In a mansion filled with wreckage and debris, a soft, blue-striped sofa sat quietly in the corner.
It was covered in thick dust, blending perfectly into the chaotic surroundings, appearing utterly unremarkable to the naked eye.
If there was anything slightly "off" about it, it was that its surface remained completely intact. It was as if the vandals who had broken in to wreak havoc had somehow overlooked this particular plush seat.
Horace Slughorn was camouflaged inside it.
His two small eyes, squeezed by layers of fat, rolled nervously as he held his breath, not daring to make a sound.
Ever since Lord Voldemort's resurrection last year, Death Eaters had been relentlessly trying to kidnap him. Coupled with the complicated "affairs of the past," Slughorn had been forced into a life of exile. Moving from one Muggle home to another, he had become a seasoned expert at the art of disguise.
"Dumbledore wrote to me, wanting me to return... but there is absolutely no way I'll agree! No matter what he says, it's useless!" Slughorn muttered to himself, sweating profusely inside the stuffy upholstery.
"Joining Hogwarts now is clearly just jumping into a muddy pool... I won't do it! Not even if he uses Harry—or Ethan—to tempt me!"
"...But then again, Ethan truly is a once-in-a-millennium genius. If I could bring him under my wing... No, no, no! I must not associate with evil!"
Slughorn shook his head violently, trying to toss the tempting thought away. Just thinking about what he had seen in the newspapers made him feel as though the world had become a surreal fever dream.
What did they mean by Ethan is the world-ending 'Mr. Lamp'? What was this about Dumbledore being involved with a Dark Lord for the second time?
Did Gellert Grindelwald know about this?
"...Right. No matter what Dumbledore promises, I will not agree."
Slughorn made up his mind. He simulated several rejection speeches in his head, firmly believing he would not soften his heart!
He focused his senses, waiting silently for this latest "visitor" to leave.
One second, two seconds, three... one minute, three minutes.
A long time passed, yet there was still no movement outside. There was only a faint, metallic scent of rust that grew stronger by the second. Eventually, it became so thick that Slughorn felt, in a daze, as though he were soaking in a pool of blood!
Did someone spill too much Dragon Blood? Slughorn wondered irritably.
Even though his logic told him to keep waiting, the deepening scent brought a sense of unbearable anxiety that gripped his very soul. He couldn't resist it; he had to take a peek.
...It's been so long. They must have left by now, right?
...Just one look.
I'll just peek and then pull back in. Nothing will happen.
As if hypnotized by the thought, Slughorn cautiously poked his head out from the sofa cover. He opened his eyes and looked out.
He found himself staring into a pitch-black, grinning face just inches away!
It was gargantuan, occupying nearly half the room. Crimson liquid dripped continuously from the corners of its mouth—which were slit all the way back to its ears—pattering onto the floor and forming a literal pool of blood.
As if it had been waiting for him to emerge, the grin widened with twisted delight upon seeing his frozen face. Within its crooked eyes, pupils as black as a void looked down at him like a dark mirror.
Strangely, a halo floated above its head. Like an "angel."
[Heehee, heehee... @%¥...? Hee.]
A mocking, incomprehensible laugh emanated from behind those bared fangs. The crimson liquid dripped steadily onto Slughorn's head.
"Ah... aah..."
Slughorn's mouth hung open, but only meaningless syllables escaped. He and the sofa cover began to tremble violently together! His eyes bulged; his fear had instantly shattered his threshold for what a human could endure.
His mind went blank. He couldn't move. He could only watch as the black ghost-face slowly opened its massive maw.
[Gurgle.]
As if vomiting, twisted arms began to reach out from the mouth, clawing toward him!
"———————— AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Slughorn suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs. He tumbled to the floor, his half-transformed sofa cover tangling around him as he struggled frantically, looking like a man possessed by a nightmare.
Just as his terror reached its peak, a gentle hand pressed down on his shoulder.
"Do not be afraid. It was just a nightmare."
A mild yet powerful voice gradually soothed the panic and dread within Slughorn's heart.
"Huff... huff... huff!"
Slughorn gasped for air, his heart pounding like a drum. As he calmed down, he realized the thick smell of blood had vanished. The eerie ghost was nowhere to be seen.
...Was it an illusion spell?
Blast it, have I gotten so old that I'm being scared by such low-level tricks?
Slughorn took a deep breath and looked up, saying gratefully, "Thank you for—"
His words cut off abruptly!
What met his eyes was a pure white mask with no facial features!!
Even more terrifying than that ethereal ghost, the third-generation Dark Lord himself—the infamous "Mr. Lamp" from the newspapers—was standing right beside him.
"We sincerely invite you to join the Hogwarts family and contribute your light and heat to the bright future of the Enlightenment Society," Mr. Lamp said earnestly.
With one hand firmly gripping the old man's shoulder, his other hand reached into his robes and pulled out a business card.
"You won't refuse, will you? My dear Mr. Slughorn~"
Behind him, that pitch-black ghost-face was still hovering.
[Heehee, heeheehee...]
The ghost-face looked down at him, its mouth curled into a mocking arc. Under the silent gaze of the pure white mask, Slughorn's hand trembled as he reached out to take the card.
Finally, he couldn't help but burst into tears.
"I accept! I'll accept, alright?! Just please... please give me something normal for once!!"
Falling into the hands of Death Eaters might lead to physical torture, but falling into the hands of "Mr. Lamp" was a double assault on the mind and the body!
"What do you think?"
Ethan removed the mask and turned to look at the nearby Dumbledore, who looked like he wanted to say something but was hesitating. Ethan curled his lips into a harmless, charming smile. "Professor Slughorn is quite easy to talk to. He isn't as stubborn as you made him out to be."
"Waaaaahhhhhh—"
Listening to the background noise of Slughorn wailing like a distressed walrus, Dumbledore remained silent. After a long moment, he simply gave Ethan a thumbs-up.
The two looked at each other and shared a grin. "Hehehe~"
...Either way, Dumbledore wasn't the one suffering. As long as the goal was achieved, wasn't that enough?
What? You're asking about the mental health of the faculty?
Cough.
Anyway, that wouldn't be his problem for much longer.
In the now-restored and tidy room, Slughorn, Ethan, and Dumbledore sat across from each other on sofas and chairs, forming a sort of three-way standoff.
The old professor, who had just been forced onto this "pirate ship," was slumped over, looking as if he had fused with the sofa. He held a steaming cup of hot cocoa in both hands, eyes glazed over as he breathed in heavy, ragged gasps.
Suddenly, Ethan reached into his robes.
The old professor's heart jumped into his throat. "Ah!" he cried out, his hand jerking so violently that the hot cocoa flew into the air!
A split second before it could splash down, a surge of magic caught it. The liquid gathered back into the cup, which drifted slowly back into the terrified professor's hands.
While Ethan cast the spell with one hand, he pulled a beautiful iron box from his robes with the other. As if nothing had happened, he said calmly:
"I almost forgot your gift, Professor Slughorn. I heard you're fond of crystallized pineapple?"
"Oh! Yes..." Slughorn took the gift box in surprise, his mouth working wordlessly for a moment before he said complexly, "Thank you, Mr. Vincent..."
"That was an excellent wandless Levitation Charm just now. At your age, very few students can control magic with such precision and skill."
As he spoke, a glimmer of desire—the look of a collector finding a rare prize—flickered in the "walrus" professor's eyes.
"You flatter me," Ethan said with a smirk. "Once school starts, you'll be able to instruct me personally. I look forward to discussing... academic questions with you."
The moment he heard the words "discussing academics," Slughorn's heart skipped a beat. Memories of the past flooded back, making even the crystallized pineapple in his hand lose its appeal.
No...
He couldn't lump Ethan and Voldemort together. Since Dumbledore trusted Ethan, Ethan had to be a "good" person. At the very least, he wouldn't seek the kind of outrageous help Voldemort had.
Thinking this, the frightened old professor relaxed slightly and took a nervous sip of his cocoa.
Ethan added casually: "By the way, I hope you can help me break into the Ministry of Magic, Professor Slughorn."
"Pffft!"
Slughorn sprayed his hot cocoa everywhere! Facing Ethan's disapproving expression, he shouted in shock:
"Break into the Ministry?! What are you even trying to do?!"
You're not even going to pretend anymore, are you?!
He suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion, almost wishing it had been Voldemort. At least Voldemort would have worn a disguise first.
"Alas, I want to explore a certain place in the Ministry, but they won't let me in anymore. I have to find another way," Ethan sighed, looking perfectly innocent.
That's because you just blew up the Ministry not long ago!! Slughorn screamed internally, feeling a sense of powerlessness as if he were facing an eldritch horror.
...Was this guy really human, or was he some kind of magical creature in disguise?
"I... I can't help you," Slughorn stammered. "If you break into the Ministry and do something bad..."
It felt just like the moment he had personally told Voldemort the secret of Horcruxes. A sense of guilt and suffocation, like a serpent, coiled around his throat, making it hard to breathe.
"———— Professor Slughorn."
Suddenly, a voice as clear as a spring rang out, snapping him back to reality. The poor old professor looked up and met Ethan's cobalt-blue eyes.
"Did you know," Ethan said, "that when Voldemort was looking for you, he had already completed his first Horcrux?"
In the original timeline, the then-star student Tom Riddle had already murdered his father's family and turned the Gaunt family ring into a Horcrux.
Slughorn's eyes widened. "What? Already—wait, how do you know that?!"
He stared in shock at the black-haired youth before him. For a moment, Ethan's silhouette overlapped with a figure from his memories.
...That calm, calculating attitude; those cold eyes that seemed to see right through the soul. The only difference was that the boy in front of him never bothered to hide his true intentions.
"Therefore, there is no need to blame yourself. Voldemort was merely coming to you for a final confirmation," Ethan leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the professor's sweat-drenched face. He spoke slowly: "And helping me is the correct path. Think about it—is the current Ministry of Magic truly worth following?"
It had to be said—after several decades, hearing these seductive, persuasive words again made Slughorn feel almost nostalgic. It was as if an Imperius Curse had been cast, making his head feel fuzzy, urging him to nod in agreement.
Ethan suddenly smiled. "Or... would you prefer I actually use the Imperius Curse?"
Slughorn: "..."
Do you have to be that honest?!
He tremblingly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. He glanced at the smiling Dumbledore, took a deep breath, and finally said in a hoarse voice:
"...Fine. I promise you."
"However, I have one condition."
Ethan nodded. "Name it."
The old professor hesitated, rubbing his hands together as a look of embarrassment crossed his face.
"I hope you can help me... research a new potion that no one has ever successfully brewed: a potion to cure a Maledictus."
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